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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493917">Have a sip, babe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus'>chronosaurus (kimnamjin)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Two Kids Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Han Jisung | Han is Whipped, Idiots in Love, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minsung being cute, Ppl seem to rlly like my canon compliant minsungs so...here’s another!, Short &amp; Sweet, Some Humor, banter as flirting, iced americanos as a plot device, inspired by their TKS duet song, minho does in fact call jisung “babe”, minsung are not explicitly boyfriends but it is Heavily implied, that’s it...thats the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:33:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jisung, feeling particularly bold today, smirked up into Minho’s face. “Your mouth tastes like ass, hyung.” He cooed, unable to contain his umpteenth bout of laughter as Minho's dopey, post-kiss expression instantly soured. </p><p>His eyes popped open in dismay, as he argued, “It's from the damn americano! I'm <i>never</i> kissing you after one of these <i>ever</i> again, Jisung.” </p><p>Minho knows Jisung is joking, but he exaggeratedly pouted his lips all the same. For the third time, Jisung wants to kiss him. </p><p>“It's okay, hyung.” Jisung mused, leaning in again. He unconsciously tightened his grip on his americano, lest it slip out his hand from the melting of the ice making the plastic slick. </p><p>Minho quirked a brow, but leaned himself forward nonetheless. </p><p>“I'll <i>gladly</i> go back for seconds.”</p><p> </p><p>(Inspired by MinSung’s duet from Two Kids Song, in which Jisung loves a good iced americano, but he loves kissing Minho <i>way</i> more.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Two Kids Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Have a sip, babe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jisung usually elects to keep his blinds shut tight on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bed day</span>
  </em>
  <span> such as this</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to give his room the illusion of night time throughout the day. But today he went against his own grain, and threw open the shades before flopping back into bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The midday sunlight is almost disconcertingly bright and unfiltered, and dapples pindots of light onto the particles of dust bobbing through the air. Jisung is so unfamiliar with sunlight streaming into </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>room, that he's beginning to feel he's in the running to steal the title of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stray Kid’s Resident Vampire </span>
  </em>
  <span>from a certain someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeongin’s section of the bedroom is spotless. Everything is neat and tidy, and exactly where it's supposed to be. The same cannot be said for Jisung's equal half of the room. A fine layer of grime is layered on his bedside alarm clock, from disuse. He knows he should get around to dusting, as his roommate always begs him to do, but there's so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>things he could do. Instead of toweling clean his unused alarm clock, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>prefers to browse his playlist of educational videos on YouTube. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Could feather-dusting his gadgets and table lamp teach him that a cheetah is the world's fastest land animal? </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Could folding up his boxers and wrangling his dirty socks into the hamper tell him that the peregrine falcon is the world’s fastest </span>
  <em>
    <span>flying </span>
  </em>
  <span>animal?</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung didn't think so. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>But he digresses. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>His voracious appetite for fun facts aside, there’s balled up tee shirts and balled up socks and balled up lyric sheets all about the floor, crumpled paper and crumpled fabric living in harmony on the floorboards. Some have even rolled under Jisung's bed, as if to seek a certain refuge. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight of the illuminated dirt and dander </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>serve to remind Jisung what a slob he is, and how desperately he needs to clean his side of the room, yet he couldn't help finding it inherently beautiful. Almost as if there's a fine flurry of pretend-snow floating down from the ceiling, just for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Something else is inherently beautiful too, and Jisung is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>talking about artfully-lit dust in the air. He's talking about some</span>
  <em>
    <span>one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a round of knocking on the door. Jisung doesn't even know why the owner of said knocking bothered, because before he could even call the visitor inside, the door is wildly thrust open. Almost kicked down, in such a manic haste to enter Jisung’s room. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho sauntered in as if he owns the place, once the door hinges ceased their squeaking. As if Jisung’s section of his shared room with Jeongin is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And at this rate, it might as well be. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a certain swagger to Minho’s gait, as he skips inside with ease and familiarity than simply cannot be faked. A certain sway of his dancer's hips, a certain relaxed grace in each socked-foot fall, as he eyes the rapper splayed on his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>They have a rare day off from schedules today, and Minho is in his free-day finery; consisting of a white statement print tee, and black track pants. He's got a ball cap shoved on his head, but he awkwardly peeled the hat off with whatever dexterity his preoccupied fingers could manage, upon entering. Without sparing a glance over his shoulder, he carelessly tossed the accessory onto Jeongin’s bed. In turn, muddying up the sheer perfection their youngest worked so tirelessly to achieve when cleaning his side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung smiled, instinctually. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>While Jisung is perfectly content to spend their entire day off lounging in bed, only moving when absolutely necessary, Minho contradictingly enjoys getting out for some fresh air. Which, more often than not, ends with him going on an impromptu coffee run. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of which;</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He's got not one, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> to-go cups on his person, one serving securely held in each hand. Both the same rich, mouth-watering brown. Both filled with ice, occasionally crackling under the pressure of Minho's grasp, or clattering against the plastic cups’ walls from his movement. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee delivery,” Minho sang, shaking the two icy cups as he did so. Droplets of condensation ran down the plastic, wetting the elegant curves of Minho’s fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Said delivery is just as random as it is completely expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Jisung drawled, taking the surprise in stride. He rolled over on his bed, so he's fully facing Minho. “I'll leave you a good tip this time. Promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho huffed, but it was more of a breathy chuckle than anything. He padded even closer to Jisung's bed, and said, “Here's a tip,” He motioned at Jisung's bed with his two coffee-filled hands. “Move over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung would have pretended to act difficult in the face of the demand, but he’s not in the mood. He missed Minho too much, to put on a show. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jisung did as told, and wiggled over in bed until a perfectly sized section of mattress and pre-made blanket is revealed. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho clambered onto the bed—but not before handing Jisung his respective iced americano. Now that Minho has a free hand, he ran his fingers through his wild hat-hair, effectively smoothing his caramel brown locks back across his forehead. Once properly situated, Minho slid his body right next to Jisung’s, propping himself comfortably against his headboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung took a grateful sip of the beverage, and the wonderfully acidic brew instantly cooled him off from the inside out. It's a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot </span>
  </em>
  <span>day in Seoul, and Jisung didn't realize how needed the icy drink was until Minho’s spontaneous arrival. A typically hot day, granted. Jisung and Jeongin’s room doesn't have its own AC unit, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a rather large floor fan, currently oscillating its little motor out as it bathes the room in vaguely-chilled air. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Not ideal on a summer day in Seoul, but it'll have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The americano helps, though. Minho's presence, in spite of the increase in heat from his added proximity, </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>helps. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Once sufficiently comfy in Jisung’s tiny bed, Minho elected to take a long sip of his own americano. He sighed, contentedly, once he popped his lips off the straw. There's a small splotch of coffee wetting the corner of his lips, and Jisung suddenly had the immense urge to kiss it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The dot of diluted espresso was gone with a swipe of Minho’s tongue, no more than a second after Jisung's thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>As if sensing some of the context of Jisung's inner musings, Minho extended his drink towards Jisung. He positioned the straw </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>at his lips, and said, “Here. Have a sip, babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung couldn't help staring at Minho, quizzically. “I have the same drink, hyung.” He raised his own cup of americano, as if Minho</span>
  <em>
    <span> somehow </span>
  </em>
  <span>forgot. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho shrugged, and he's suddenly smiling. That synonymously feline quirk at the corner of his lips, a sight even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>welcome than a frosty americano on a toasty Seoul day. “Just take a sip, Jisung.” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Never one to turn down an opportunity for a swing of americano, Jisung wordlessly sucked down a hearty gulp from Minho's cup. Minho's own coffee isn't necessarily any better than Jisung's, but there's an implacable sweetness on his tongue as he takes a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He smacked his lips as he pulled off the straw, relishing in the refreshingly bitter kick of the drink. He said, absentmindedly, “That could be a good lyric for a song, hyung.” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung mentally noted down the exact wording of Minho's original offer, and tucked it away in a safe corner of his brain. He has a feeling he'll be revisiting that little suggestion in the not-so distant future, during the next 3racha lyric session. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho hummed at Jisung’s musical suggestion, before completely shifting gears. He took a loud slurp from his rapidly emptying cup, and gazed at the brew, somewhat contemplatively. “Do you ever think about how these kinda taste like ass?” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung tossed his head back, landing the back of his noggin against his pillow, and laughed. He full on belly laughed, until it made the musculature of his tummy ache. He inadvertently squeezed his own up of americano as he did so, until the cool drink threatened to overflow from the domed lid. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung reined in his cackles in order to tease, “Well, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>know, hyung.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho scoffed, playfully. “Yeah, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn't.” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stared at each other, faux-glares as steely as they could muster, before their facades cracked in unison. They both burst into wild giggles at the exact same moment, doubling over until the crowns of their heads lightly tapped together. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>This is Minho and Jisung, in their essence. Teasing and button-pushing, all in the name of love. All in the name of laughing until your last gulp of americano almost shoots out your nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung righted himself first, Minho following a moment after. His eyes are sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the window, making their mischievous glimmer even more apparent. Minho's bottom lip is quivering, from his herculean effort to hold in the remainder of his laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>For the second time that day, the unignorable urge to kiss Minho crept up Jisung’s spine, before nestling itself </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the center of his brain. Unmistakable. Unstoppable. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence in the wake of their hysterics only goaded Jisung on. The knowing sparkle in Minho's eyes only made his heart pound faster, hotter. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't allow himself the self-control from earlier, when he posed, “Can I kiss you, hyung?” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung says it breathlessly, longingly, like it's the very first time. It isn't. At </span>
  <em>
    <span>all. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he gets telltale butterflies all the same, whenever Minho's lips are concerned. A swarm of metaphoric critters are fluttering about his tummy right now, heart-shaped wings kicking up the last swig of americano he swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>It's the kind of skin-tingling, gut-pinching excitement you get when strapped in on a rollercoaster’s dizzying ascent. Jisung felt the innate desire to put his hands up, to enjoy the wind whipping past while he free-falls, as Minho begins to lean in. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you really have to ask?” Minho giggled, before darting forward and locking his lips with Jisung’s. His lips are thin but still pleasantly sticky from his last coat of gloss. His mouth tastes appropriately earthy from his coffee, but his lips are still addictingly sweet as if sifted with confectioner’s sugar. Jisung hummed into the kiss, their eyes softly shutting, and both drinks instantly forgotten in their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled away a few seconds later, but Jisung didn't have it in himself to be disappointed. He's much too giddy, much too happy, to allow his perpetual longing for Minho’s lips to fully take hold; but...maybe that's just the caffeine talking. Jisung will consider it the former. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung, feeling particularly brazen today, smirked up into Minho’s face. “Your mouth tastes like ass, hyung.” He cooed, unable to contain his umpteenth bout of laughter as Minho's dopey, post-kiss expression instantly soured. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes popped open in dismay, as he argued, “It's from the damn americano! I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>kissing you after one of these </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>again, Jisung.” </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eyes, as he forcefully swallowed down his cackles. His giggles taste like his americano, pleasantly bitter and sour and aromatic. His giggles taste like Minho’s lips. So sweet, like a spoonful of honey down his throat. Like a shot-glass of lightning down his gullet, prickling his skin with zips of electricity. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Jisung is sure that if Minho were to touch his skin right now, the pads of his fingers would create a blinding spark on contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho knows Jisung is joking, but he exaggeratedly pouted his lips all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>For the third time, Jisung wants to kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's okay, hyung.” Jisung mused, leaning in again. He unconsciously tightened his grip on his half-done americano, lest it slip out his hand from the melting of the ice making the plastic slick. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Minho quirked a brow, but leaned himself forward nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>gladly </span>
  </em>
  <span>go back for seconds.” Jisung said with surety, his eyes fluttering shut in tandem with Minho's.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips met once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>And he did just that. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>minsung make me so happy uwu they are truly my life blood</p><p>I hope u enjoyed part 1 of my new series based on each two kids song duet!! The next 3 one shots are already completed and will be uploaded within the next few weeks, so feel free to sub to the series if u wanna keep up!<br/>Anyways thanks for reading! kudos + comments motivate me to write and are always extremely appreciated &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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